All is Fair in Love and War
by Skade
Summary: The wisarding world has been separated into elements, and a new dark lord has risen from the least expected... (Please R/R!){Ch. 4 is up, after a bit of a wait... please come and read! Thanks!}
1. Author's Notes and Comments

_All is Fair in Love and War  
An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

**_Author's Notes and Author's Introduction_**

**Welcome, welcome, welcome, everyone!  
**This is =Skade=, your wonderful author speaking. : ) I decided to do an "author's notes" for this to explain things... errr, a lot of things actually...

First off, this is going to be a quite interesting fanfiction piece. I'm procrastinating on my other so I can write this - but I just have to get this story out of my head before it runs away! My muse is being picky with me. (She works per hour, don'cha know...)

The basis of this story is that a catastrophe has happened in the wisarding world. Magic's power and avalibility has dropped, and nearly all magic is now **elemental**. That means that each person has a special type of magic, like fire, electricity, water, earth, etc. Muggles have evacuated all of England and surrounding countryside because of a supposed "nuclear meltdown", actually the effect of the magic 'separating'. Earth magic has ran amuck and forests cover most of the country now. London is nothing more than a tangle of oaks over the remains of stone buildings, roads and wood long gone. Everything is one giant forest. There are no wisard battles anymore, enchanted elemental swords being the weaponry of choice. The entire world has fallen backwards in technology, wisards now live somewhere between mideval and colonial times. Lord Voldemort has not been seen (in full fury, at least) since the seperating... but it has been roumored that he has had a certain change of heart. A new dark lord has come forth from who the world thought the least likely... He calls himself Lord Samael...

The first chapter takes its title from a bit of verse. The song is Simon and Garfunkel's _Scarborogh Fair_, the title comes from the refrain_. _If you have the song handy, play it as you read.

Now you know everything you need to enjoy this story. Chapter one brings answers. Chapter two will bring even more.

Enjoy. Your journey into this land I'm half-crafting will soon begin.

_Disclaimer: All characters from the Harry Potter series are, of course, J.K. Rowling's. This is PG-13 (even though I am 12 and the author - ha!) because I can't help but get just a bit descriptive with all the blood, guts and gore. Why are you reading this utterly boring disclaimer anyway? Does it interest you? Hmmmm, you are a quite strange person if it does. Tra-la-la..._


	2. Chapter One: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and...

_All is Fair in Love and War  
An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

Chapter 1 - Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme

Lord Samael gazed out over his lands, black hair tousled by the winds criss-crossing the hill. Gripping the hilt of his electric-sword, he frowned, cold gaze following the two guards climbing the hill to speak with him. Black cloak flapping in the wind, the two hapless soldiers dragged a man between them. Lord Samael regarded this with amusement, looking down icily at the man's shabby appearance. Pale skin, tanned slightly by work, dressed in a brown tunic and pants with worn leather boots, blonde-white hair floated about his face. He kept his face turned down. Samael smiled. Wise.

"Sir?" one of the guards panted as he leaned on his spear. It had been a hard climb, and just to be looked down upon by Lord Samael... he cringed as he recieved Samael's icily cool gaze. "We found this man making trouble in one of the towns," he reported, maintaining a brisk military attitude. "I think he may be the leader of the small rebellion going against you, M'lord."

"Leave him here. I shall deal with him, captain." Lord Samael turned to the man, a thin dark smile crossing his lips. "Too cowardly to show your face?" he jeered at the man.

Turning his face upward, the man replied in a quiet threatening voice. "I simply like to stay alive." He had a perfectly normal face, nose just a tad flat, but Samael could tell cosmetic magic had been used. Then, the man flicked his eyes upward...

True, instead of being a flaming orange they had mellowed into a light amber, but one thing remained true. Framed by light brown, the narrow slitted pupils could only belong to one person...

One who had not shown his face in many years.

Lord Samael hissed. "YOU!"

"Yes," said the man dryly. "You were always slow to wit, Harry..."

Lord Samael's furious scream echoed through the air. "**Never** speak that name!" Drawing the sword in one smooth movement, the steely arc of lightning crashed to the ground - the other had quickly dodged. Another blade was drawn, glowing and tipped with flame, and it crashed down. Breathing through gritted teeth, Lord Samael let his pain only be shown through his grimace.

The stranger frowned down upon Samael, eyes hard. "Because I flee this one time does not mean this is over, because it is not, not by far." The white-blonde hair blew across his face, for a moment it became clear who he was as intense hatred flashed through his eyes. As suddenly has he had come, however, he had Apparated, leaving Lord Samael behind.

Hissing, Samael's wounded hand clenched and unclenched. Blood trickled across his clothing, onto his cape, darkening the black slightly. Ignoring the rush of troops hurrying up the hill to help him, he whispered to the wind. "Someday, Voldemort, someday I shall get my revenge..."

"Sir!" squawked the nearest soldier. "Are you all right, M'lord?"

He said nothing in response, the pause growing long and chill. Looking out over the rolling forest and hills, his reply finally came. "We march, come dawn, captain."

"Yes, M'lord," said the captain quickly, then turned to his men and began shouting orders. All regarded thier leader, thier Lord, with quiet fear. Fear, if they showed thier fear he'd kill them, he didn't like cowards - was that why he hated himself?

On the crest of the hill, Lord Samael - the man who used to be innocent Harry Potter - stood, watching the sunset turn the sky blood-red. Blood would be shed in the morrow, he promised himself. Blood would be shed, lives would be taken, and someday Voldemort would lie at his feet and beg for mercy... 


	3. Chapter Two: Still Wild, The Archer Stan...

_All is Fair in Love and War  
An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

Chapter Two - Still Wild, The Archer Stands

AN: Yes, another song-title. If you have Heart's "Dream of the Archer", listen to it now - it's what I'm listening to as I write.

Dawn.

The dark army made its way through woods, through swamps, through plains. Two miles down before the sun even crested the hills for the true dawning, thirteen more to go. Thirteen, the unlucky number - Lord Samael frowned. A bad omen, an owl's shrieking call. Death would come upon his army today, Samael noted, if you believed the old sayings. No matter. Perched upon his midnight steed, he watched the flag unfurl in the wind, striking cobra seeming to snap at the wind. Samael smiled. The bad luck of today would not be on his army, but on the opponent...

Thirteen miles away from the spot where Lord Samael smiled into the rising sun, another face met the rising dawn.

The General frowned, fingering his longbow. "A fell wind blows today, Captain."

"Yes, sir." Captain Terraine responded automatically. The General could always be a bit strange. Terraine took a calculating look at his superior, as he often did. Broad shoulders, silver-blonde hair cut long in a ponytail, sharp eyes seeing everything. Terraine still couldn't figure how he could reject all support of the new-forming freedom army, even going so far as to refer to them as 'the rabble'. Perhaps it was the army's head? Anyone could be suspicious of Voldemort, but most grudgingly took his help because being alive was better than being dead. Yet Terraine's superior rejected all of the army's help. Not what you'd suspect of a Malfoy, after all that -

"If you have an opinion, speak it, Captain." General Malfoy's voice interrupted Terraine's train of thought, and he paled, stammering a reply.

"No, sir..."

"No what?" Malfoy shot back quickly.

"N-no, I don't have an opinion." Terraine relaxed a bit when Malfoy's calculating, harsh look turned away from him. It was a lie, of course, but a well needed one.

General Malfoy turned to the map on the table, releasing the tent-flap and blocking out most of the light from the dawn. "The dark army's encampment lies fifteen miles from here. They have begun to march at dawn today." Malfoy glanced at each of his captains as he spoke. "Many died to bring us this information. We must now act upon it. All archers will keep watch at the earthworks and an armed patrol will be on alert..." He pointed to another spot on the map. "Should this battle go ... badly... all survivors will apparate to this spot. A group of healers are tending a bonfire for Fire-types to apparate to and for Water-types there is a lake nearby." Malfoy glared across the table. "Is everything clear?"

None of the captains got a chance to answer. A horn-call split the quiet camp, warcries scarred the silence. The dark army was here! How could it be?

"Damn them," Draco Malfoy hissed, shouldering his longbow as he rushed out of the tent. A controlled group apparition! The singing of his bow-string reached his ears, water-arrows from his bow arced through the air.

"_Arran c'saai romanoth! Victiari tsas y'raan!_" The battlecry, almost song, rippled through the morning battle. _Death riddles the air! Victory will be ours!_ The ancient mode slipped quietly off the tounge and served Draco's army well. Yet even the strongest of armies found thier match here. Not listening to the battle-calls, the dark army advanced. Draco glanced up and saw thier flag, his flag, burning... they had taken the flag bearer. His heart sank as he numbly watched the blue hearaldry-dragon on a field of green go up in flames. Grasping the silver horn at his belt, he blew into it three times. The call for retreat.

Retreat, throught Draco. He had been beaten by Potter again. Perhaps he would be, no matter what he did... Closing his eyes, he calmed his mind, focusing on his goal, and apparated.

A rush of water closed in around him, instinctively he gasped at the cold. _You shouldn't have done that, Draco. You're a water-element, true, but it won't keep you from drowning._ Struggling for the surface, he thrashed, and then... the sweet sensation of air. Choking and gasping, he forced his body to be calm, and then dove back into the depths, swimming for the beach of the lake. Dimly aware of other water-elementals apparating near him, he only focused on his goal.

There, his feet touched gravel. Struggling out of the water, it was only now Draco became aware of the shaft in his shoulder and the gash on his arm. He didn't remember any pain until now... His world was spiraling, out of his control. Were those healers or his soldiers rushing up to him? Draco never knew, slipping into feverish and tortured dreams as he fell onto the beach, unconcious. 


	4. Chapter Three: The Last of the Two

_All is Fair in Love and War  
An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

Chapter 3 - The Last of the Two

_AN: Heeheehee, yes, another part due to the whinings of a certain funkay-looking beetle *cough cough rita skeeter cough* this might be a bit long and starts off with a long and rambling bit from who you very well least expect._

_To quote a person that will speak this line later in this piece (next ch.), "It's best to just think of him as another person."_

~(*)~

He sighed to himself as he quietly looked out on the forest. Fate. Lady Fate had tripped him up yet again, and was probably mocking him behind his back. Oh, well. He had delt with it before (in the worst of ways) but that was another matter (yes, indeed it was) that should be saved for another time (not to mention another place). He had long renounced what he had done before, he had changed his path (from selfishness to selflessness, he supposed) and so he didn't want to call himself by the other name that he had. But what other choice had he? Lady Fate was laughing at him, he knew it. And he had been settled into a life of guiltstricken misery and long walks in the woods just when Fate decided otherwise. Now here he was leading and army and taking lives, as he used to... he shivered. At least it was for a better cause (he hoped, but then, who could really tell?).

"Sir?" A soldier's voice interrupted his thoughts and daydreams. He tried to break himself free of... wherever he was, shaking his head.

He cleared his throat. "Yes, Captain?" He hadn't realized he spoke so quietly. Almost timidly, he supposed (James would laugh if he knew, but then he would see his son and weep...).

"The report, sir. We've recieved word that the Dark Army is raiding for supplies in a town near here just after sunset, Draco's army is reccouperating well, and we have enough supplies for a good two weeks not counting the foraged suppliments." The quick, easy report in clipped and short militarian speech reached his ears. He had become used to such speech over the years.

"What town are they raiding?" Probably useless information, but it would be nice to know. Details could always be important.

"Errr..." The captain's face twisted into thought. "I believe the name was Woodtangle."

_Curse it all,_ he thought fiercely. This wasn't a raiding party, it was something far more lethal... See, now look what you've done, he chided himself, scared your captains yet again - but the brooding look would serve him well. If only he could get there before it was too late!

Grabbing the reins and mounting his chesnut stallion, he called out to his soldiers who was to be in command and rushed down the path, pushing the horse into a gallop. He was going to save a woman who currently considered him an adversary. Trying to see the humor in the irony, Lord Voldemort forced himself to smile bitterly as the wind whipped around his cloak.

The small village of Woodtangle was about to become a casualty of war.

Only one family in the small huddle of straw-thached buildings knew this, and they were choosing to be martyrs.

"Go," the woman begged to the younger woman beside her. "Et ez not safe for you 'ere anymore!" The french accent was undenyable as the motherly, larger figure started to saddle the horse.

"I can't go." The younger woman's voice was soft and fearful, her brown hair floated around her shoulders. "Not after all you've done for me. You'll be killed..."

"Aye." A man, much larger than a man should be, and stockier, stood at the doorway. "But ye shan't be. Now go, 'Ermione." No harshness was in his voice, just a quiet command. Both knew what they were doing.

The woman mounted the horse, the dapple-grey mare as it gnawed its bit. Slowly at first the mare plodded, and then though it was not urdged on by its rider, it began to run... Only now she allowed herself to breathe, but it came out as a ragged sob. The figures faded into the distance. Her safe harbor was no more. She grabbed the reins harder and sobbed into the mare's mane.

And the sun dipped below the horizon. All would soon be dark.

Fire. It lived and breathed. Samael stared into the depths of the bonfire and smiled darkly. Sunset - the sky was bloody red. More blood to be shed. He couldn't waste time, after all, he had been taught to be effecient.

Flame. What the Burrow had gone up in just days after he saught the dark path. Samael's smile grew fiercer. He had locked the windows and made sure every Weasley was there. A slow and painful death because they knew too much about him. And now... the last. The last of the two who had been closest to him. He seeked revenge, revenge for thier fear when he showed them his dark power...

It would be perfect. A black steed and firebrand for each soldier. They would sweep through the village. Death by fire. A roar of distant thunder saluted his ears. Perfect. All anyone would find were charred and blackend remains...

"We ride." His voice cut through the silence as he issued the command.

_Please don't let me be too late..._  
Voldemort didn't wish to stop himself. Ravings of a lunatic, a madman, that's what they were (all right as long as they aren't spoken aloud). She was the only one who could conquer him fully, but she didn't know...  
If only he knew there was a higher power. Proved by science, written in stone, of course - he accepted nothing less. For now the rising moon would do.  
_Please..._

Lord Samael kept his face stony. The last shaft. Three should do to kill even a half-giant, especially with his aim. At least Hagrid had shown some spirit and had not begged for mercy, unlike the weeping villagers. He had done worse. He had asked why.

Why Samael had turned.

Was it not obvious? He had his reasons, his secrecy. No questions. None. He was Lord Samael now, no one questioned him, ever, ever...

And then... he could not find her. Like the fox she had eluded his hounds yet again. No matter. The best archers on the fastest horses were on her trail. No one escaped from Lord Samael, no one...

Green eyes alight with vengeful hatred, he gave the silent command for every villager to be killed.

Hermione kept herself barely from screaming as her horse reared, bucking, wild. For a split second she felt herself falling, reins slipping from her hands. A few moments of blackness...

The pain in her wrist and side were staggering, but the even harder blow was that the grey mare hobbled along, one leg useless because of a bloody gash. Dispair dropped on her heart and she managed to slide off of the ground. She was miserable. Wet, cold, and... it was starting to rain, wasn't it?

Shuddering and sobbing, she leaned against a nearbly tree. The tumble of the creek echoed in her ears. For a moment she felt oddly detached, like if it were all a bad dream and soon, soon she could be back... back where she felt at home...

No! She shouldn't think about that, she musn't. Concentrate, concentrate on the world around you...

Rain. Thunder. The creek, the horse, herself, hoofbeats... hoofbeats? Fear stabbed into her like an icy knife. Hoofbeats! Paralyzed with her realization, she could only remember to breathe, and then just barely.

The rider entered the clearing, chestnut horse glistening with sweat as he brought the stallion to a halt. Invisible, there had to be some way to make herself invisible, but she couldn't remember the words or the way... But... the rider wore a brown cloak. Brown. Brown and the saddle had an embroidered eagle on it...

The Freedom Army!

Her gasp, his notice. He jerked his head around and Hermione felt herself fill with terror once again.

"Hermione!" His wisper was quick, quiet, desperate. "Come on!"

Taking a gasp to swallow her sobs, she inched up the tree, keeping her back to the rough bark. Eyes livid, memories stirred not by the face (never the face, it had changed) but by the eyes of the rider, she gave her answer.

"No," she hissed, voice full of rage.

The manaical, dark side of her enjoyed watching him nearly go mad with panic. "Please," he said, voice having an odd pleading tone. Funny, from the least person she would ever expect. But she said nothing and kept her face stony.

His voice took a sudden razor edge. "If you truly think I am going to kill you, ponder this: if Lord Samael catches you, than he will do far worse than simply kill you outright. I, however, am one of the few that can still preform the most unforgivable of the Three."

Hermione shivered. He had a point. Necro-lightningmancers could make you die several times over, while Voldemort had retained the ability to use the _advera kadavera _curse for some reason. (What she didn't know is that he hadn't.) Clumsily mounting the horse next to him, she became aware of a strange feeling in her stomach. Nervous, she was nervous... riding clinging to the back of her adversary... Ron would laugh if he knew, if things were normal, and then he would panic...

She hoped he didn't notice the tears falling onto his cloak. Her world was crashing down around her yet again, what else was there to do?

--------------------------------

_Yet More A.N.: Whooooo. That was long and pretty free form. Please be a resposible little darling of a reader and review, 'kay? ^_^_


	5. Chapter Four: Ravenbrook

_All is Fair in Love and War  
An Improbable Harry Potter Fan Fiction_

Chapter Four - Ravenbrook

AN: As per popular demand... Another chapter. Go to [http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/99/lothlorien.html ][1]and download thier first song, "Ghostwood". It goes with this chapter like how strawberries go with cream. Okay, okay, stupid analogy but... download it anyway!

Oh, and yes, Marm Annie is taken a bit from Redwall mother-hedgehogs...

Songs...

Hermione heard the tune, felt it. In her half-awake state the flute seemed to be a flash of moving, airy color, sparkling sky blue; the guitar an ebbing tawny flow of amber. She moaned and buried her face farther into the pillow, wanting to get up and be awake desperately. Unfortunately, her body and mind, ragged from last night's mad flight, wanted otherwise.

Summoning the energy to roll over, she located where the music was coming from. The window showed a beautiful landscape looking out over an apple-and-pear orchard (yes, she remembered barely... a mass apparition to this place, someone helped her up when she stumbled wearily over the roots of the largest tree). A large group of women and children climbed and picked the ripe apples and pears, and two sat by the full baskets playing the flute and guitar. Hermione closed her eyes and let the happy morning melody override any fear she had. These people could not be cruel.

Motivated by the sun that had just crested over the horizon, she reluctantly removed herself from bed, shoving off the layers of covers. A simple cream dress, loose and free, with a brown lace-up bodice had been laid out for her to wear. As she got them on, Hermione tried to piece together what had happened last night. She remembered the frantic ride, clinging to Voldemort's cape... and just barely the controlled group apparition. How someone had always guided her silently as they moved through the forest, and then how the silence had abruptly been broken after they apparated. All she could remember was being shown her room, and then... Hermione sighed. She deserved the rest, after all. Streightening her bodice and sleeves, she quietly made her way downstairs.

The cool wood, smoothed and shined, felt nice against her bare feet. The perfect weather of the "Indian summer" was wonderful. Hermione felt as if she would never, never fear again if she stayed at this place.

Ravenbrook, she said to herself. That's what they said this place was. A beautiful name, a beautiful mansion and grounds. Guided by the drifting smell of food, she quietly slinked into the kitchens.

A roar of a friendly kitchenmarm's voice greeted her. "Thar's the brave lassie!" Cheers went up amongst the women and girls working in the kitchen, and the kitchenmarm hurried over to introduce herself. "M' name's Annie Sigr, but e'ryone 'ereabouts calls me Marm Annie. Ye look like ye have a fair mind and hand, I could use ye in the kitchen!"

Hermione felt herself blush slightly. "But I can't cook at all..."

"Ach, no matter!" Marm Annie beamed at her. "I'm sure that ye can chop walnuts wi'out choppin' yer hands off!" Hermione smiled at the gentle teasing. Marm Annie dropped her voice lower to a whisper and spoke while looking at the open door. "There be someone a-waitin' for ye, lassie. Best be off with you for the moment, I'll call ye when I need ye."

Nodding and thankful to be outdoors, Hermione galloped out of the room, not for any perticular reason other than to show that she could. The lush grass and fresh air made her feel even better and banished the last fear left from last night. Looking around, she was puzzled. No one was there, she thought, until she spotted a figure in the shadows.

"Cho," she breathed quietly.

The other smiled, black hair floating about her face. "Hermione. I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither," she commented stutteringly. The shock of seeing a Hogwarts student from her same year hadn't completely faded.

Cho smiled at her clumsy speech. "Come," she said, turning quietly to the path. "I want to show you something."

Hermione followed her up the small flagstone path that led to a bluff up ahead. On the crest of the large hill, the grounds and gardens of Ravenbrook Manor could be seen for miles. She gasped as she looked upon the sparkling waters of the lake, the trimmed and blooming flowerbeds, the hedge maze, the isle in the lake... It was autumn, and every tree was aglow, alight with color. Wildflowers covered the hill, and Hermione smelled the perfume of lateblooming roses on the air.

Cho smiled. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes," Hermione said, breathless. "Yes, yes, it is..."

The silence spanned several minutes as Hermione seemed to drink of the beauty. Miles of beauty...

Cho broke the silence. "This is his estate, you know."

No, no, no, Hermione did _not _want to think of him. No Voldemort...

"He built it and planted it himself - down to every last tree in the orchard," Cho continued. "And to every last iris in the flowerbed."

Hurriedly, Hermione tried to think of anything else. Voldemort created such beauty? Impossible, wasn't he the man who had taken so many lives?

So... many... indeed.

Cho read her thoughts. She motioned quietly to the rose gardens. "One rosebush," she whispered, "For each he killed."

Hermione looked to where she motioned. The pure white roses were in full, fragrant bloom, fragile reminders of the past, against deeply rich green foliage... covered with thorns. She shivered. The past exactly.

Hermione felt Cho's hand rest on her shoulder in an comforting move. "It's best to just think of him as another person." With that she was gone.

Tears of anger and pain brimming in her eyes, Hermione's breath quickened. No. She would never trust him. Accept his help for now, but he couldn't have possibly changed so much. No. Her heart would harden to him... even if it killed her. With a coldly measured pace, she walked back to the friendly chatter of the kitchens.

She, of course, didn't see the small figure on the island that knew enough to figure out what would happen. And she never heard his dispairing sigh. 

   [1]: http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/99/lothlorien.html



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